


The Big Lebowski

by blankety blank (doll_revolution)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doll_revolution/pseuds/blankety%20blank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim goes bowling.  Things get strained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Lebowski

## The Big Lebowski

by Blankety

Pet Fly and Paramount own these characters, and I do not. Make of that what you wish.  


Another sacrifice to the altar of Alyjude. Worship her!  
Also: a 'hey' to Patt who told me this would work as a story.

In my world, it's ALWAYS between TSP2 and TSBS. So sue me.  
The rating is for language and a little kissy-face; no real sex. (Sorry!)

* * *

Blair Sandburg leaned against the loft door, closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Some days it seemed as if the freshman were getting younger and younger. /That's the last time I make a Duran Duran reference. / It hadn't taken Sentinel ears for him to hear his students giggling as they left the lecture. 

/Beer./ he thought. /Beer is good/ He opened his eyes to see his roommate lying on the couch, eyes closed, left ankle bandaged, iced and raised up on three pillows. All thoughts of beer forgotten, Blair dropped his backpack and rushed over to the couch. 

"Jim! Jeez, man, what happened? Are you all right? Does it hurt? Do you need help with anything? Have you been to the hospital? Should you-" He broke off as Jim reached out and grabbed his wrist. 

"Calm down, Sandburg. It's a sprain, not an amputation." 

"Funny, big guy." Almost reflexively, he flipped Jim off. "What happened? You were fine this morning." 

"I fell." 

"Yeah, well, no shit. Fell doing what? Climbing the stairs? Chasing a felon? Running to get the last apple Danish? What?" 

Jim didn't say anything. Blair looked him over carefully. "Okay, you won't tell me. That means it has to be embarrassing. Let's see, let's see. Maybe my Danish theory is correct? " Jim turned his head away and closed his eyes. 

"Oooo! Even more embarrassing than that. That means some type of severe public humiliation. What the hell could have happened?" Blair rubbed his temple, thinking hard. Suddenly his eyes lit up with an unholy glee. 

"Say, Jim. Wasn't today that charity thing?" Jim glared at him. Undaunted, Blair continued, "Bowling tournament, wasn't it?" 

"Shut up, Sandburg!" 

"If I remember correctly -and I always do-- wasn't it Cascade PD-" 

"Shut up!" 

"-versus Sunset Valley Retirement Home? I think it was. Average age of the residents is. . .75 years old? What happened? Someone trip you with their walker?" 

Jim just crossed him arms and glared. Blair sighed. "Jim, Jim. Why do you always make this so hard? Just tell me!" 

Jim closed his eyes. 

"Fine, man. I'll just call Simon, see if he wants a beer. I'm sure after a hard day of geezer-bowling, the man wouldn't say no to a free brew or two." Blair picked up the phone and started to dial, only to have it batted from his hand. He watched in appreciation as it flew all the way across the loft, hit the far wall, and bounced. Twice. "Nice shot." 

"Call Simon and you're a dead man, Chief." 

"I'd feel threatened if I actually thought you could catch me. What are you going to do, gimp me to death?" 

"Why do you always think violence is my first choice, huh? Maybe I'll just get your ride-along pulled." 

"Well, violence is as violence does, you know? It wasn't me who bitch-slapped the phone into-" Blair stopped short as he finally processed what Jim had said. His eyes narrowed. "You prick." 

Jim smirked. Blair leaned over and hit Jim's ankle. Hard. "You complete and utter PRICK. You think that's what's important to me? That's all I care about? Huh? Being able to 'observe' you, get data for the diss? Well, fuck you man!" 

Jim's mouth dropped open, stunned by the venom in Blair's voice. He reached out a hand. "Blair-" 

"Don't 'Blair' me! I don't have to take this shit, you know? Naomi didn't raise me to be a doormat. I'm leaving, okay? Consider the ride-along pulled!" He stalked off to his room, where Jim could hear him opening drawers, pulling out clothes. Packing. Packing to LEAVE. 

Jim rubbed a shaking hand across his face. /Christ! What the hell happened? I didn't mean it! We were just kidding, weren't we?/ Without intending to move, he found himself at the door to Blair's room, his hand white-knuckled against the frame. /Shit. I can fix this, can't I?/ 

He stuck his head into the room. "Uh, Blair-" Once again, words failed him. Blair was sitting on the bed, grinning, stuffing a shirt into his backpack, and then taking it out. In, out. In, out. "What the hell?" 

Blair pointed a finger at him. "Gotcha." 

Jim felt the blood rush back to his head, making him dizzy. "You were faking?" 

"Yup." 

"That's, that's. . .fucking EVIL, Chief! You can't go around playing the move-out card if you don't mean it!" He felt anger rolling over him like a red tide. 

"You played the ride-along card first. Now you know how I feel when you pull that crap." Jim looked into Blair's serious face and his anger drained away. Suddenly he was very tired, his ankle throbbing. "Okay. New House Rule: no more card playing in the loft. Happy?" 

"I'm happy if you really mean it. Do you?" 

"I mean it. Really. Now help me back to the couch, okay?" 

Blair jumped up, immediately contrite. "Shit, man, I forgot about your ankle. Here, put your arm over my shoulder, put your weight on me. Use me like a crutch." 

"Same old, same old, huh Sandburg?" Blair grinned up at Jim. Together they managed to shuffle their way to the couch without jarring Jim's ankle too badly. 

Once again, Jim was lying down, ankle elevated and iced. "You know, I really thought you were going to leave, Chief." 

Blair buffed his fingernails on his shirt, and then blew on them, looking smug. "Rainier Drama Club, three years running." 

"You're a total bastard, you know that?" 

Blair looked mournful. "Why does it always come back to my mother with you?" 

Jim looked steadily at Blair, who managed to hold his expression for ten whole seconds before dissolving into giggles. Jim just shook his head, grinning. He threw a pillow at Blair. "Quiet, you!" 

Blair settled back into his corner of the couch and wiped his eyes. "So, Jim, what the hell did you do to your ankle?" 

Jim just stared at Blair, his whole face frozen in a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. He opened his mouth a few times, but didn't say anything. 

Blair patted his leg consolingly. "I know, man, I know. Dj vu all over again. But come on, you've got to tell me. I'm not going through that 'ride-along move-out gotcha' shit for a second time." 

Jim sighed. "I suppose not. I don't think my nerves could stand it. Dammit, Sandburg, do you ALWAYS have to get your way?" 

"Yup." 

"Why?" 

"Because I'm practically perfect in every way?" 

Jim snorted. "Yeah, right, Mary Poppins. A practically perfect asshole is more like it." He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it behind his head. "Fine, then. This is what happened. 

"Me and Simon and Rafe and Brown were bowling against these four women from Sunset Valley. And let me tell you, Sandburg, these ladies were not your typical grandmother types. They were mean old broads. Mean, hard-drinking broads who belonged to the American Legion." 

Blair groaned and covered his face. Jim glared at him. "What?" 

"Man, I've done some scary things in my life, hung out with some wild people, but even I know better to get mixed up with Legion bowlers! They play for blood, man!" 

"Tell me about it! Some of them have been bowling longer than I've been alive. Christ! The lowest average they had was a 165! And they out-drank SIMON." 

"No." 

"I swear, Chief. Drank him under the table." 

"Dear lord." 

"And they kept calling us things like 'Sweet Cheeks' and 'Stud'. And they kept grabbing our asses." 

Blair giggled. Jim shot a stony glance at him. "Do you want to hear this story or not?" 

"Sorry, sorry." 

"Sure you are. Anyway, we're in the tenth frame, and Big, who's been drinking Caucasians like they've been going out of style-" He stopped talking as Blair began waving his hands at him. 

"Whoa! Slow down there, big guy! You speak English, me no understand. 'Big'? 'Caucasians'?" 

Jim rolled his eyes. "Mrs. Herman Lebowski, widow. Ever since she saw that movie, 'The Big Lebowski', she's insisted on-" 

"Oh, hey, that's a Cohen brothers film, right? With Jeff Bridges? Man, that's got some cool operatic imagery-" 

"Focus, Siskel!" Jim snapped his fingers in Blair's face. "Me. I'm telling the story here, okay?" 

"Sorry, man." 

"Sure you are. Anyway, as I was saying, before I was -as usual- interrupted, ever since she's seen that movie, she insists that her friends call her Big, and she only drinks White Russians, which Jeff called 'Caucasians' in the movie." 

"Siskel's dead." 

"What?" 

"You said 'Focus, Siskel!', but Siskel's dead. EBERT'S the one who does the reviews now." 

"Sandburg, what the hell are you talking about?" 

"I just think it's. . .significant that when you pick a reviewer to relate me to, you pick the dead one. I'm sensing some kind of underlying hostility here." 

Jim clamped his jaw so tight he could hear the bones creak and took a deep breath in through his nose. He let it out with an aggravated whoosh. "Trust me, Sandburg, any hostility I feel towards you is NOT underlying." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah, 'oh'. Now do you want me to finish this or not?" 

"Finish away." 

"Fine. So Big's a little tipsy at this point, although nowhere near as drunk as Simon. So she decides to, and this is an EXACT quote, 'show us how lady bowlers do it in the alley'." 

Blair just stared, eyes wide. 

Jim nodded. "Exactly, Chief, it was like a vision of hell. It took all four of us PLUS the manager of the lanes to get her shirt back on." He shuddered. "We never found the bra." 

Blair leaned back and covered his face. "Jesus, Jim, I hope you got danger pay for this." 

"It was a charity event. We got shit." 

"Ah, man, that sucks!" 

"Tell me about it. So anyway, during the whole. . .incident, Big must have spilled some of her drink, 'cause I sure stepped in something wet. But I didn't noticed it then." He sighed heavily. "No, I noticed it when it was my turn to bowl. I made my approach, I started my slide, my foot stuck, my ankle rolled, I fell flat on my face INTO the lane, and my ball flew out of my hand and landed two lanes away." 

"Knock any pins down?" 

"Four, but they didn't count, it wasn't my-" Jim broke off to glare at Blair, who was laughing so hard he was starting to choke. "It's not funny!" 

"Actually," SNORT. "It is. It really is." Blair risked another glance at Jim's affronted face and just howled. He picked up a pillow and pressed it against his face, muffling the laughter. 

Jim turned his head and looked out through the balcony doors, fingers tapping irritably on the couch. /I could get a dog,/ he thought. /A dog wouldn't laugh at me./ 

Blair snorted a final time and wiped the tears from his eyes. "So then what happened?" 

Jim didn't turn his head. "What makes you think anything else happened?" /Maybe a beagle. They're cute, don't shed, LOYAL/ 

"Oh, come on man! I mean, yeah, that was embarrassing and all, but it's not THAT bad. I was expecting something catastrophic, the way I had to pry it out of you." 

"You always have to know have to know everything, don't you Sandburg?' 

"Well, yeah. Besides, H and Simon AND Rafe were there. You don't think half the station knows by now?" 

"Shit." 

"Precisely. So just TELL me already!" 

Jim turned back to face Blair. "You know I hate you? I mean, you DO know that, don't you?" 

"Just tell the fucking story." 

"Well, seeing me lying hurt on the floor apparently aroused the last little bit of maternal instincts these women possessed. They were hovering around me like flies on shit" 

"Beautiful image there, Jim." 

"Fuck you. Anyway, they were trying to get a good look at my ankle to see how bad it was, and then Big had the bright idea of..." The rest of the sentence trailed off into a mumble even a Sentinel couldn't hear. 

"Excuse me, Jim? I didn't quite catch that." 

"Mmmppph mmgh mmmp." 

"What?" 

"Taking off my pants! They took off my pants, okay? There I was, lying on the floor, in front of God and everybody in my BVDs!" Jim flushed a deep red and stared at Blair defiantly. 

Blair met his stare and waited. When it became clear that Jim had nothing more to say, an expression of amazement crossed his face. "That's IT? That's what you were SO embarrassed about? That people saw your UNDERWEAR?" He began laughing again. "Jesus, Jim, could you be any more junior high? Oh my god! What if John tells Joe and he tells Susie? Now I'll NEVER get a date for the Spring Fling Dance!" Blair laughed so hard he fell off the couch. 

Jim watched in exasperation as Blair rolled around on the floor, snorting. He had a dust bunny caught in his hair and was laughing so hard that drool was leaking out the corner of his mouth. He looked to be all of five-years-old. /A deranged, maniacal five-year-old on crack./ Jim sighed, a faint grin appearing almost in spite of itself. /My partner, the evil gnome./ 

Blair finally finished laughing and pulled himself back on to the couch, scrubbing at his face with his hands. "Sorry, man, really, but jeez! If you could have seen the expression on your face! You would have been right there on the floor with me." 

"See? This is exactly why I don't tell you things. I share my feelings and I get nothing but mockery." 

"Aw, come on, Jim, don't be that way! You know-" 

"Hey!" Jim raised his hand, indicating the conversation was over. "I got nothing to say to you. You're a mock-maker." 

"A what? A 'mock-maker'?" Blair glanced quickly at Jim's serious expression, looked away, and then almost choked to death trying not to laugh. A laugh finally burst through, and he quickly clamped both hands over his mouth. He looked up at Jim just in time to see the smirk. He hit Jim in the ankle. Hard. "You did that on purpose! 'Mock-maker' my ass!" 

Jim opened his mouth, and then closed it. "I'm not even going to attempt to touch that one, Sandburg. And stop hitting my ankle! That fucking hurts!" 

"Sorry, man. Here; let me see." He pulled Jim's ankle into his lap, unwrapped it, and began to gently press on the swelling. "Close your eyes, Jim. Let your sense of touch follow my fingers, and we can see where the major damage is." 

Jim leaned back in to the couch, closed his eyes, and focused his concentration on Blair. He sighed as the tension drained from his body. Blair's fingers felt SO good on his ankle as they pushed gently and then rubbed away the hurt. Blair cupped Jim's foot in the palm of his hand, and stroked it lightly from ankle to toes, rhythmically brushing, rubbing, caressing... caressing? Jim frowned. 

"Um, Sandburg?" 

"Yeah, Jim?" 

"You're fondling my foot." 

To Blair's credit, his heartbeat and breathing remained even, and his hands continued their smooth, even strokes. "No, I'm not. I'm just checking for damage." 

"You know, Sandburg, I WAS a medic and I AM a detective, and you, my friend, are fondling my foot. No doubt about it." 

Blair held his hands still, but didn't relinquish his grasp on Jim's foot. He stared at Jim, his expression serious and a little wary. "So what if I am? Do you have a problem with that?" 

Jim put his hands behind his head and relaxed even further into the couch. "No problem at all. Knock yourself out." 

Blair's mouth dropped open, and he couldn't seem to close it. Finally, he managed to speak. "What? What did you say?" 

"I said knock yourself out. Go ahead; have a festival of fondling." 

"A festival of fondling?" 

"You bet." 

"A festival of fondling?" 

"It doesn't usually take you this long to comprehend something, Sandburg. You all right there?" 

Blair shoved Jim's foot from his lap, jumped off the couch, and began pacing, hands waving wildly. "All right? No, I am NOT all right! In fact, I am the evil opposite of all right." He stopped suddenly to point an accusing finger at Jim. "You're a prick. A complete and utter prick!" 

Jim rolled his eyes. "Shit, we're not going to start this again, are we Sandburg? What the hell's wrong NOW?" 

"What the hell's wrong? I'll TELL you what's wrong! I can't believe that for three years you've been open to the idea of foot-fondling and you didn't fucking tell me!" 

"Yeah, well maybe I can't believe that for three years you've been open to the idea of BEING a foot-fondler and you didn't tell ME!" 

"Well, I was!" 

"Well, so was I!" 

Jim and Blair glared angrily at each other until it suddenly occurred to them both that this was really NOT something to be mad about. Blair spoke first, his voice a little uncertain. "It's really okay if I fondle your feet?" 

"Yeah. You really want to fondle them?" 

"Oh, yeah." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

Jim's face broke into a goofy little smile and Blair felt his heart melt. He coughed lightly and spoke without meeting Jim's eyes. "What about, um, other things? Can I fondle those, too?" He slowly looked up at Jim through his eyelashes, his expression a little sinful. 

Jim felt all the blood rush from his body, only to converge in an aching heat in his groin. His voice felt husky as he said "Other things? What 'things' did you have in mind? 'Cause I have to tell you: right now I'm feeling pretty much up for anything." 

Blair smiled wantonly as he came over to the couch and straddled Jim. He moaned low in his throat as their erections met and pulsed. "Oh, I can tell you are, big guy. And I mean that literally this time." He pushed his hips into Jim with a lithe twist; Jim felt the world gray out as a wave of sweet, sullen pleasure rolled through him. He reached up and anchored his hands in Blair's hair, pulling him down until their foreheads touched and he could taste the sharp tang of Blair's breath. 

"Oh, Blair, I think, I think that's more than fondling." He sighed as Blair began nibbling at his lips while his hips continued thrusting. Blair licked his ear and whispered, "Fondling, frottage; it's all the same in the end." 

"Oh, shit, Sandburg, that's what I'm counting on!" Jim wrapped one leg around Blair and pulled him closer, his lips trailing over Blair's cheek, jaw until they reached his mouth and their lips finally, FINALLY met in a deep, soulful, intense god damn fucking perfect kiss. 

* * *

End The Big Lebowski by Blankety: blankstreet@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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